Same God

She walked alone, eyes to the ground,

No smile, no voice, no joyful sound.

A life withdrawn, a soul crushed low,

A spirit lost, with nowhere to go.

She’d breeze through days in pin-drop silence,

Dead to all, yet still existing

Like a shadow quickly swept away,

She lived unseen, day after day.

One fateful slip, a sudden fall,

She lay in pain, no strength to call.

But just nearby, a door swung wide

Mrs Mary came like an angel in disguise.

With steady hands and quiet grace,

She soothed the pain from the girl’s face.

She wrapped her leg and brewed warm tea,

A simple act of empathy.

The silence broke, the tears tumbled down

Years of sorrow finally unbound.

“Oh child,” said Mary, “cry no more,

Christ still stands at every door.

‘Come to me,’ He calls the worn

the burdened, lost, the soul forlorn.

He gives us rest, He makes us whole,

Restores the heart, revives the soul.”               (Math 11:28)

The same God who called forth life once gone,

Who raised up Lazarus with His song,

Who heals, restores, and makes things new

That same God will come through for you.      (John 11:44)

She bowed her head, released her past,

And found true peace and hope at last.

“My life, O Lord, I give to you

Let me be yours in everything I do.”

 

All Things Are Possible to Him Who Believes

"All things are possible—just believe,"

He whispered softly, seeking reprieve.
Bills piled high, the orders few,
Seven mouths to feed, yet nothing new.

Tossing, turning through the night,
Weighed by worry, drained of fight.
Frustration rose, he turned on the light,
"Lord, what should I do?" he cried.
"I've tried it all, I've fought, I've tried."

His weary eyes, with doubt still lined,
Fell on the words he'd read a thousand times—

23 Jesus said unto him, If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.  mark 9:23 KJV

The words now echoed, clear to see.

He let his thoughts drift back in time,
Scenes of childhood, sweet, sublime.
Though his parents had been poor,
They never lacked, though they slept on the floor.

Then came a spark—so warm, so true,
A memory bright and clear in view.
"If it worked for Mother, it will work for me too!"
Nine kids she raised, strong and wise,
With bread and cakes, she filled their lives.

Up to the attic, he climbed with care,
Dust in the air, but hope was there.
Through tattered pages, aged yet sound,
His mother’s treasured notes he found.

With love, he glued each recipe tight,
Kissed the book, then worked through the night.
And lo! By dawn, the ovens burned bright,
The bakery doors swung open to the light.

The townspeople lined from far and wide,
Drawn by whispers that spread overnight.
Bread and cakes, warm and sweet,
Sold before they left the heat.

Tears of thanks, a whispered word,
"Thank you, Lord, for prayers heard.
You lit my night, you made me see,
That faith will always carry me."